Cross Stars
by LoreWren
Summary: It's more complex than it seems, even before it's complicated. Romeo & Juliet reincarnated as twins. No pairings.
1. Prologue

_A/N: From TV Tropes (still a black hole time suck):_

"An old Japanese myth says that if two star-crossed lovers commit dual suicide, they get reincarnated as twins."

"That sounds like a prompt for an amazing/disturbing _Romeo and Juliet_ sequel."

* * *

><p>In the moment they decided, in the moment they drank the drop and drew the dagger, in the moment they <em>died<em> - they were in love.

* * *

><p><em>Here's to my love!<br>O true apothecary!_  
><em>Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.<em>

_Thy lips are warm.  
>Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!<br>This is thy sheath;  
>There rust, and let me die.<em>

* * *

><p>They didn't know, of course.<p>

It was an escape. "I must be with you," to "I can't bear to be without you," to, "You are worth any hell I might find." Simple, to their minds, at that point. Some call it sweet, some call it stupid, some call it love, whatever that means.

They didn't commit suicide together, really. But the intent was there. They died because they could not bear to live apart. Someone, somewhere, takes pity on those who do. Not always in a way we like. They have strange ideas of love and loyalty, stranger still of pity; their compassion is unrecognizable. If either understood what would happen, _truly_, I don't know that either would have died with that intent.

They didn't know, of course.

* * *

><p>Nine months of rest. Everything else could come later: the switch, the consequences, the cross stars that would stay with them still. But not now.<p>

Now, _right now_, they had nine warm, dark, quiet months.


	2. How It Didn't Happen

As I said, the...being's compassion would be fully alien to us.

It also really _hated_ to lose.

* * *

><p>Threads in hand, ready to weave. The being touched each possibility, one by one, in a timeless place while the lovers floated nearby, no more waiting than they were resting. Not yet even to the point of their nine months. Just floating.<p>

Here?

_Juliet, here Julianna, burned at the stake for being too clever, or for keeping odd company, or both, or neither. Excuses, all. Romeo without his Juliet, without his Mercutio, without his Benvolio, lost, helpless, on the streets when he should be home. Bleary, steps somewhere he shouldn't._

No…

_Romeo, here, too forward. And Juliet didn't need him, shouldn't, but fell into a grief too powerful for anyone to understand, at being separated again. Found a bottle of something that was full this time; she didn't know what it was, just that it would erase the pain. It wouldn't have, but she slipped here and no one found her for…_

No.

_Accused of something, a flimsy case, but they both "confessed" so neither would go alone, just as they had the first—_

No!

Time, time, time. Somewhere. There must be somewhere they live to adulthood, somewhere even star-crossed pairs can be, if not happy, _be, _somehow…

_House burned down, no one's fault, million-to-one chance. "Just bad luck," the firefighter apologizes to the camera, and in the back of his head, 'Could've happened to anyone.'_

Some way…

_It would kill her. Married off too young, knowing what house her children would be raised in, she took the knife that suddenly felt __**right**__ in her hand, raised it and_

_**Here.**_

The being didn't care anymore. We would recognize the feeling now, every species that had ever hunted or been prey had. Desperately furious, furiously desperate, the being turned an act of (something like) charity into a fierce oath. The words slotted into place, and now were as much a part of the being as anything could be.

**They will see the end of their fourteenth year, and they will see it together.**

* * *

><p>He tied them, tight, to the next option that flashed by, and watched, looking no further than the present, no further than each moment they experienced as they lived it. Split in two when they were apart, and back together when they were close, the fiery guardian watched each like a mother hawk.<p>

The parents wanted the children. Always had. Sure, money was tight, but they were looking to move anyway. Easy enough to find a place with a good school district.

They wanted them. Always had, just hadn't realized it. Hadn't changed their minds; hadn't broken up; wouldn't. Just smiled, moved, never thought about the fact that the idea of children had scared them before. They could do it, so they would. Nothing odd about that.

Nothing at all.


	3. Rose and Jacob

_A/N: Dedicated to Anya Reine, who subscribed to my author alert and got my to continue this thing._

It was the first day of eighth grade. There were a handful of new students who had transferred here—Jacob noted there were a few new in each grade, number inversely related to the age of the students in that year. Kindergarten had too many new students to fit any curve, but did fit the basic pattern.

And, as happened every year, one of the new kids in his grade had found he and his sister were in the same grade, and made the obvious leap.

"You're twins? But you don't look anything alike!"

Jacob didn't like talking to new people. He wasn't sure if it was being advanced, or another thing he should've learned while playing some sport, but he had trouble communicating. Rose was better at it, but she was off running around the field after another kick that had sent the ball three times farther than the farthest person out. The assumption that twins were identical was a familiar enough subject that he could work his way through the steps, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. Less, really.

"We're fraternal twins," he started in a half-hearted attempt to enlighten fellow eighth-grader George, at least enough to get back to watching the game, making sure Rose didn't get herself hurt. She never seemed to care, and he was, technically, the older sibling. "We're just like brother and sister, except we happened to develop at the same time."

"No, I know that"—Jacob looked at George for the first time in the conversation—"you're a boy and a girl, you'd _have_ to be." Jacob recognized the tone. It was the same one he used with his second-grade teacher the last time he'd been at school. _I can be informal with you, and you should know I'm smart._ "I meant you don't look like siblings."

"Oh. Sorry." And that felt weird, so he tried to repeat what he'd heard his parents say. "She likes sports more than I do, and she does fencing on the weekends, so she looks different' and she moves different'." He mimicked the use of adjectives where there should be adverbs, though he'd just had a test on parts of speech so he knew they didn't fit there. He'd always needed to _focus_ on talking, as if there was what he felt and there was communicating what he felt, but there wasn't often more than a passing connection between the two. "But"—what was it?—"we have the same eyes and nose." George was looking at him oddly, so Jacob shrugged and attempted a joke. "That's what my parents say, anyway. I dunno, maybe they adopted one of us and we happened to have the same birthdate." _Birthday_, he kicked himself. _Everyone says_ birthday.

"You're really close." And that had Jacob looking at George oddly.

"Yes?" Jacob tried.

"Most siblings I know hate each other, at least sometimes."

Jacob shrugged, and found an opportunity to use a piece he'd been working on. "Rose is good at getting into trouble and I'm good at getting out of it. She's an absolute idiot sometimes, but she means well." That didn't seem to finish as well as it had on paper, because it didn't really address the most important part. "She's my sister." There was a pause as the two boys watched someone make a home run. "You're an only child?"

"Yeah."

Jacob shifted. He hadn't actually planned anywhere for the conversation to go from there, but George appeared to either be watching the game or watching the people, so he let it fade.

Class had been easy, that day. He probably had about half an hour of homework, if he focused, and that much only because he'd have to wait for his parents to sign all the syllabi. _And_ he'd met a student who appeared to be capable of companionable silence, so that was a plus.

* * *

><p>Rose <em>hated<em> the first day of school. Class was _boring_, but filled with stuff you had to remember, and she just _knew_ she was going to lose one of her syllabuses. At least when you were in fifth grade you had a long recess, but eighth graders split it between extended music, which she would hate even if it weren't required and so basic, and extended P.E., which was all drills and so _boring_.

Jacob played violin at home and so got out of music, meaning he had study hall in the library. She could have done the same thing to get out of P.E., with her fencing and being on the soccer team (where the drills were still boring, but at least coach would tell her _why_ she was _doing_ them), but since she couldn't focus if she hadn't had _some_ physical exertion that day, she didn't see the point.

"Hey, Rose!" She was quietly going insane with boredom when Mike called her over during passing period. "You up for some kickball after school?"

She smiled immediately. "Sounds good; my mom's gotta pick me up late anyway. Big field, right after?"

"Yeah. See you there; I'm gonna be late," he said, before dashing off in full view of a teacher who probably should have stopped him.

The last class of the day wasn't easier to focus on, but at least she didn't feel like she was going to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>The kickball game was <em>fantastic<em>.

Rose was like a spring, give her a day back at school to wind up and she'd bounce all over. The kickball flew off her foot, and her shoe only accompanied it once, about five minutes before her mom came for Jake and her. Jake had picked it up and silently given her a Look, but hadn't lectured her about actually _tying_ her shoes, so he musta been in a good mood, too.

She had, in fact, lost her science syllabus. The one that was due tomorrow. About halfway through complaining about it, Jake interrupted.

"Rose, every science teacher uses the same one. We'll just copy mine."

She brightened again. Jacob was starting to wonder about the mood swings, but then realized she was about that age and promptly _stopped_ thinking about it. "Thanks, Jake!"

"Jacob," he corrected absently, not expecting her to react anymore, much less actually change her mind. He had already made a copy while she was complaining, so just handed it to her and then left to read in sun on their back porch. He expected to get a few chapters in before Rose moved to non-solitary procrastination.

* * *

><p>Rose glanced out the window to see what Jake was doing. Well. Actually because she didn't want to do this math worksheet, but pretty similar.<p>

_Reading. Hm. I'll let him get a few chapters in before I bother him. __ Unless he's gonna get sunburned, or dinner's about to start._ She paused, not seeing any particular reason to be dishonest with herself._ Or I get _really_ bored._


End file.
